


Drunk on the Taste of You

by androgenius



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: ... sort of, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub, Nadia (The Arcana) Route Spoilers, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, The Arcana (Visual Novel) Spoilers, Top Valerius (The Arcana), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Wine, so much wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 04:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20109349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius
Summary: Valerius is convinced that he hates you and finds you insufferably annoying with no other urges involved until he has a sex dream about you.You're still insufferably annoying, he just also wants to bend you over a table now. This might have been easy to ignore if you weren't such a damntart. Unfortunately for him, Valerius is nothing if not proud.





	Drunk on the Taste of You

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came out of three things: an anon request, my undying love for Valerius, and an amalgam of several ideas I had previously had for Valerius smut. Hilariously, the story ended up fitting neither the exact request nor any of the ideas that I had had into it.
> 
> I tried to stick as close as possible to Valerius' characterization without making him... campy. I think it's hard to know how much of who he really is was, y'know, that spoiler in Nadia's Book 20, and how much of it was genuinely him. I also thought that his behavior would have been somewhat different if the events of Nadia's Book 11 hadn't taken place, and if the Apprentice was his MC as opposed to Nadia's. 
> 
> By the time I realized that this was not just turning into a great smutfic but instead turning into an epic love story, I also realized that I would need to deal with the spoiler from Nadia's Book 20. Hard to get around that. Hard to get around the entire climax of the story, really. So I did my best to work it in. I left a lot of things vague, because no one wants this to turn into a tedious retelling of the Arcana's climax, but seeing as this is more or less a shortform version of what Valerius' route _could_ look like, I think it's safe to say that this whole fic is **CHOCK FULL OF SPOILERS**. Read at your own risk!

Valerius is... annoyed.

This shouldn't come as much of a surprise to anyone at all. After all, it's more or less his default state of being, if one forgoes the mention of _drunk_ right alongside it, which does tend to take the edge off of his annoyance rather nicely.

Usually.

Today, it doesn't. Or-- hasn't, at any rate.

_You're_ annoying.

Last night was already bad enough, with the other courtiers seeming to hang on your every word, as if you weren't leading them all on a merry chase with your ridiculously tall tales.

It was all he could do to keep from losing his mind. Really, knocking the pitcher of wine over and into your lap was the least he could do.

If anything, it was an insult to the wine. And to him, for that matter-- all that wine, wasted on such a pitiful creature...

In that regard, your little stunt today should have been downright predictable. You _are_ a disgusting, shameless, miserable little cretin, after all. How and why you ended up in the countess' good graces so extraordinarily quickly, he has no idea.

He's not even sure he wants to know. Not even morbid curiosity could tempt him this time, no matter how much he may adore gossip.

_"It better not happen again. I don't know what game you're playing, Consul, but I don't plan on losing."_

Absolutely _ridiculous._ His memory of the challenge in your gaze alone is enough to make his blood boil.

Not even his blatant insult of you-- the implication that the countless plucked you up from inside a gutter-- seemed to be sufficient to quell his absurd amount of annoyance at your very existence.

Then again, it's hard to forget your little stunt with the cards, too.

_"Strange clouds obscure your true purpose. Secrets hidden behind illusion threaten to reveal themselves. You walk a path alone, convinced no one can see through your facade._

_But I see you_."

Under normal circumstances, it might have been easily shrugged off at first, but with each and every added word, his bemusement at your... _everything_ dropped off with astonishing rapidity.

It would have stopped being funny had you ceased your little stunt after telling him how invulnerable and alone he feels, but then you decided to level him with that impenetrable stare as if you could read his very thoughts just by looking at him.

_But I see you_.

_No_, he decides that evening as he waits for his bath to be drawn. No, you can't possibly see him. See... through him. The cards might not lie, but the thought of you knowing absolutely anything about him is laughable. Ludicrous.

And _annoying_.

He has his glass refilled and decides to forget about you. If not for long, then at least for the rest of the night.

&

  
It's not to be. You seem to remain on the consul's mind that night and the many that follow. It's upsetting, to say the least.

Of course, there's also the annoying little detail of how he's now becoming even more annoyed with the countess for even being near you at all in the first place. She was annoying before, but now...

He'd rather not look too closely at that.

And then... he has The Dream.

On the one hand, a part of him wonders if his surprise was really warranted. He is, after all, a Scorpio, and his sex drive has always been considerable. Not that it's ever led to him having wet dreams, if only because he tends to take care of such problems before they become so _considerable_, but... there's a first time for everything.

He wouldn't even have minded if it hadn't ended up being about _you_, of all people.

Perhaps it makes sense. He's been seeing an awful lot of you-- an irritating amount, to be sure-- each and every pass of one another in the hallway marked by nothing more than a simple address of each other by name and accompanying death glares. Even with the countess at your side, your routine changes little upon seeing one another-- unless Nadia interrupts your respective journeys in _completely_ opposite directions to say some inane thing or complain about him and his fellow courtiers. The work they should be and aren't doing, his general level of inebriation, Volta's food consumption...

It's tiresome enough that he almost prefers to simply run into you these days.

No-- not almost. He _does_.

A _terrifying_ thought. But... it is preferable, regrettable as that truth may be. It's always clean, neat, and easily dealt with. The two of you know you hate each other and know all too well to leave one another be.

Which is one of the many reasons that the existence of this... _dream_ is more than a little irksome. It implies that there's something beneath that hatred, which just simply isn't true.

Even if he cared to look at the curves of your body, the fire that seems to lap at your eyes every time you look at him, or the fullness of your lips-- which he doesn't-- he certainly _wouldn't_. You're disgusting, filthy street trash. A mere plebe and a pauper compared to him and his considerable status.

It doesn't matter how much the thought of dominating you evidently appeals to him-- how much he'd love to pin you against a wall and force your submission, make you squeal and moan while he tells you of the myriad annoyances you've granted him for which you must now be punished--

_No_.

He realizes how close he was to breaking the glass in his hands only from drawing it up to his lips to take a long, extended sip. Coping.

He's... coping.

And rather poorly, for the matter, judging by the way his fingernails dig into the couch in the salon upon the sight of your entrance.

"Consul."

"_Witch_."

Maybe if he makes your _title_ on his tongue drip with enough disdain, he'll start believing his own lies enough not to give away the fact that he's thinking of bending you over the piano.

Ah, but he _has_ always hated that piano...

"I didn't expect to find you here."

"And whom did you expect to find?"

"_Not_ you."

"I'm hurt."

"Are you?"

"No."

A little. It would be a considerable balm for his wounded ego if you happened to be suffering just as much as he has been.

"I didn't think you would be."

"Well," he continues, clearing his throat, delicately crossing one leg over the other before removing a non-existent piece of lint from the fabric, _anything_ to keep from continuing to _look_ at you. "Why don't you run off on your little _errand_\--" a sneer, for good measure, "-- to find whomever you so desperately wish to see instead of continuing to waste my time?"

He's not sure why, but the question-- entirely rhetorical in nature, of course-- hangs pregnant in the air between you, enough so that he ends up looking up at you in response to your silence.

Only to find you walking toward him... and taking a seat in the plush armchair a mere few paces away. Two, three at most.

"No," you say, that same fire catching in your eyes as you stare him down, "I don't think I will."

"And why not?" The words escape him through gritted teeth. His gaze falls on your slightly exposed wrist and he tears his gaze away before his thoughts can run away with him.

As if desperate for something to do with his hands that don't involve pinning yours against something, he takes another sip of wine.

"Because you want me to. And I enjoy irritating you, Consul."

He pictures himself kissing you for the first time. It's... irritating. Thinking of the swell of your bottom lip is one thing. Thinking of how much more swollen he could make it with his teeth and his mouth is another thing altogether.

"So you do."

"I'd almost dare say that you feel the same way."

"No, I can't say that I enjoy it when you irritate me. I know this must come as a great shock--"

"But you do enjoy irritating me."

An interruption. How wonderful. As if he didn't want to shut you up badly enough before now.

"Do I?" There are a lot of things he thinks he'd enjoy a great deal more. He uncrosses and recrosses his legs. Takes another sip of wine. Tries to consciously relax his grip on his glass.

"Yes." There's a pause as you slowly lean in from your side, close enough for him to touch you.

(A dangerous game you're playing, isn't it? He wishes you knew, and then promptly chides himself for that desire.)

"But you're absolutely _dreadful_ at it right now."

The glass cracks. Valerius stands in one fluid motion, rage seeming to win out for now if only to cover up for reality.

If you read his cards now, he wonders if you'd come up with a different result. The magician, perhaps?

"Witch," he says, and tries to keep the vitriol from coming out through his teeth this time. It's enough of a _goodbye_ between the two of you as any would be, and he strides from the room without a second word, without a single glance back at you.

As if the sight of your smug, self-satisfied face would be enough to make him crack.

&

  
The day after that unfortunate incident-- a day on which he'd hoped to find reprieve from the divine punishment that _you_ seem to be-- ends up being anything but restful.

That would be the nice way to put it. The other would be calling it everything he could have possibly been dreading, but that would be a lie.

A slight lie, but a lie nonetheless. Perhaps if he were willing to admit as much to himself, they wouldn't be here, repressed to the high heavens and back, but, well. They are.

Here he was, hoping to escape your existence by retreating to his estate... only for you to _chase after_ him like some kind of lost, desperate puppy dog.

He should have known something was up when someone was at the door for him. After all, people didn't generally visit him. Why would this be any different?

Except that it is, because _of course_ there you are, a smug, self-satisfied look on your face. It isn't until he pushes the door open completely that he catches sight of the fact that you're not alone, though, and feels his insides shift... strangely. Uncomfortably.

As though he were _disappointed_ that you're not out there making house calls to him specifically. On your own. For no other reason than to torment him.

Which apparently would be a _good_ prospect now? What on _earth_ is the matter with him?

He crosses his arms in front of his chest, trademark sneer appropriately fixed in place before he even bothers trying to open his mouth. "_Yes_?"

"This is a very impressive house. I'll bet the whole orphan population of Vesuvia could fit in here threefold with room to spare."

"It's not a house, it's an _estate_, you uncultured sow, and I'm _sure_ they could." He bristles. At this point, he thinks he'd do and say just about anything if it would mean getting on your nerves as much as you get on his. "Did you _want_ something, Countess? _Witch_? Or did you just come here to invade the sanctity of my domicile and _ogle_?"

Going off of today's sartorial choices on the part of the countess, he can guess what they're here to ask for long before Nadia gets there, but her words still give him pause all the same.

"We were hoping you might come riding with us, Consul."

"Why?"

"A much more enjoyable way to talk than simply over tea, wouldn't you say?"

"_Talk_." He wishes that word held more vitriol in it, somehow. How annoying it is that the countess knows that he enjoys equestrianism. "Another interrogation, I gather."

"You gathered right," you tell him, and turn on your heel to walk back to your horse with that annoying little smirk affixed to your face.

The mental image of a bit between your teeth while he spanks you is somehow the only thing keeping him from baring his teeth in sheer fury at the sight of your self-satisfaction. But try as he might to be subtle, the countess still seems to catch sight of the twitch running over his features, the curious expression on her face sticking with him even as he turns back to the door.

"We went to see Vlastomil yesterday," the countess explains, "but it resulted in a... ahem, worm-wrangling... _situation_, instead. Most unpleasant. This seemed a far more enjoyable use of all of our time."

"Certainly." _No_. At least, not while you're there. "I shall get my riding gear and return to you in short order, Countess."

&

  
Why in all the hells you decided to drag him into the forest-- of all places-- is completely beyond him. And on horseback, no less.

"Do tell me again why we didn't end up simply taking the carriage?"

He hasn't been told yet, but the more irritation he can dole out, the better. Then again, a carriage might have been far worse. Pressed right up against you-- potentially, anyway-- in an enclosed, private space, only the presence of the countess could have possibly contained him from at least... bridging the topic. He's not a monster, after all.

"The scenery is quite lovely, and... I admit, I have gotten my carriage stuck more times than I can count in these woods. Horses don't struggle the same way. No wheels to break or end up in ditches."

He knows that's a lie. The countess enjoys riding, but personal comfort is also of great import to her, and this is anything but. He's almost tempted to tell her that a leech has fallen onto her shoulder just to see her reaction while catching her in the lie, but you cut the thought off before he can articulate it.

"It's almost like you don't want to spend any time with us, Consul."

"I do so wonder why."

There's that expression again, the same one from earlier at the door, Valerius stiffening involuntary under the scrutiny of Nadia's curious gaze upon him. If he dared to look more closely, he might have considered her to be offering a hint of a smile. Almost.

As though she thinks this is _funny_.

"I'm sure it couldn't possibly have to do with yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

Oh, he could murder you for that one. If the countess was curious before...

"I don't know what the witch could possibly be referring to."

He's considering telling _you_ about the nonexistent leech now, but the shiver that runs through him seems to halt the thought in its tracks.

"Does something feel off to you, Consul?"

Now that you mention it, something does. It's hard to put a finger on it beyond the generally oppressive atmosphere, but even the horses seem to be spooked enough to voice their concerns.

Something is _wrong_.

"_No_, I'm certain the horses are complaining for no reason whatsoever." A beat passes. Then another. The very air seems to shift, tightening and weighing down around him. He recognizes this draw, this dread, this sickening _hope_, it's--

"We need to turn back," he tells you, not a hint of his earlier mockery left in his tone as he turns his horse around, something it seems all too amenable to doing. There's even an annoying amount of relief to be found in his realization that you and the countess did the same.

Turning to look back, however, was a mistake.

Lucio's ghostly form is one he's felt faint whispers of in the palace, but he's never been this close and he's certainly never seen him like this. In this _state_. This horrifying, twisted form--

He wonders if that would be him if he died now, and hopes not.

&

  
It's past dusk by the time the three of you make it back, Valerius dismounting with a soft huff of anticipatory annoyance.

"Go on, Countess. Out with it."

"It really wouldn't be safe," she says, and Valerius resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course they'd want to stay after this. He wonders if you orchestrated all of this, timing included, just to torment him overnight. "I don't think I could possibly subject anyone to riding through those woods after today, even in a carriage."

"One wonders why you came at all."

It was said more to himself than anyone else, but it seems that you heard him, anyway. Because... of course you did.

"I'm here to interrogate you, remember?" You level him with a stare just daring him to take you up on it, to pick up the challenge you've so kindly offered him on a silver platter.

Even he's not sure how he resists.

Instead, he turns to Nadia, handing the horses over to the staff to take care of. "Naturally, you are welcome to stay. I wouldn't want to deprive you of the sort of quality even _orphans_ should get to enjoy here in Vesuvia."

&

  
Valerius knows that he would be thoroughly enjoying his evening if it wasn't for his uninvited guests. A long bath, a glass of wine, the possibility of a good book and a quick wank before bed to ensure that no more dreams could possibly slip betwixt the cracks of his typically well-controlled psyche...

Instead, he's here, in his sitting room, several cups of tea between the three of you while he wonders what he did to deserve this.

"You really do have a nice place," you tell him, picking up your saucer alongside your tea as though you were some kind of toddler.

"I think you mean _orphanage_," he corrects, which earns him a cheeky smile from you and curiously narrowed eyes from Nadia.

So much for being careful-- _mindful_ of not saying anything that might give the countess any _ideas_.

"Consul, is there something you'd like to share?"

Too late.

"I couldn't possibly know what you mean, Countess."

Valerius finishes his tea and pours himself a fresh glass of wine in its stead. He'll need it.

Of course, that's when you set your cup-- and saucer-- down on the table and cock your head at him.

"Pour me one?" you ask, almost _sweetly_, and for a moment he wonders if you mean that genuinely. For once.

(Have you done anything genuinely the whole time he's known you? He can't be sure.)

Either way, he pours, Nadia looking from one to the other, quietly assessing. Unnervingly.

"I may turn in early, after all," she finally says, finishing her tea and rising from the couch where she'd been sitting. "Consul, thank you again for your hospitality. Enjoy the rest of your evening, you two."

Valerius stares after her, eyes narrowed. He can't believe that she'd really do that. Is she more scheming than he gave her credit for? More intelligent? Or did _you_ ask her to do this?

As if on cue, his skepticism follows him as he turns to face you once more.

"Did you do this?"

"Do what?"

Oh, that game, is it? As if only he couldn't see the non-existent halo over your head. Bratty minx.

Leaning back in his seat, he allows the wine to dance around its glass for a moment before taking a slow sip. You look... good like this, on his couch with a glass of wine in your hand and a cocky smile on your face, but he's not interested in unpacking all that right now.

"She thinks we're fucking," he finally says, his words somehow triggering a small coughing fit in you.

_As if you didn't know that was precisely what was coming_.

He holds out a cloth napkin to you, doing his best to seem... dismissive in the process. A challenge. "Do you disagree? I'd have to regard you as an idiot if you did, and I'd _so_ hate for that to happen."

"You say that as if you don't already think of me that way."

"I don't."

You look skeptical, but it doesn't last. "Okay."

"You never gave your opinion on the matter. Do you really think it so triv--"

You cut him off. As usual. "I don't see why it matters. So long as she doesn't assume I'm in league with you, it _shouldn't_ matter."

_In league with him_.

"You really don't care."

"No."

"How very _modern_ of you." His voice is back to dripping with disdain, and he wonders how much of that is a defense mechanism.

"Nothing modern about it. I just enjoy watching you squirm."

His fingers dig into the glass. Something on his face twitches.

_I could say the same for you, but that would require me to have already seen you squirming beneath me, whimpering my name--_

"I'm sure you do."

Judging from the fire blooming slowly in your expression, he already knows what's coming next. So he decides to speak again before you can keep _baiting_ him.

"Why did you come here today? Surely there's something you must have wanted to pry out of me before we were so rudely interrupted in the forest."

"There was."

"And?"

"We actually already got what we wanted. But thank you."

That can't be right. Turning over your interactions in his head, he can't think of anything that could possibly have been discovered about him that would benefit your juvenile little investigation.

"And here I'd hoped to be enlightening."

"Oh, you were."

"Perhaps you might grant me the honor of returning the favor, in that instance? I'm afraid you have me quite mystified."

"And I don't suppose you enjoy being left in the dark."

He stares. "No."

"That's a shame."

"Is it?"

"For you." That smirk is back, poorly-concealed from behind your glass of wine before you steal another sip. A part of him can't believe he's wasting his liquor on you.

The other part... will not be acknowledged.

"Because I do so enjoy tormenting you," you tell him, and he bristles yet again. If you were closer, perhaps he would have less self-control? It would be so delightfully easy to shut you up with a kiss, hot and searing enough to make even you melt into his cushions.

It would be even easier with his cock between your lips.

He catches himself staring at them and rights his gaze once more, doing his best to look as bored as humanly possible. As bored as he truly doesn't feel at all.

"Do you."

"I do," you tell him, resting your elbows on your knees as you lean forward. You finish your wine and promptly move to refill it without question. Bold, bratty, and annoying. "Very much."

"I think you may be drunk, Witch."

You ignore him.

"Don't you enjoy tormenting me?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Because I think you did. Once upon a time. And maybe you still do, but something's changed and you've stopped trying to fight back. Did the countess talk to you?"

Oh, good. It's his turn to ignore you.

"Is it annoying you?"

You stare at him.

"Yes."

Wow. Refreshingly honest. Well, at least that saves him the trouble from having to assume anything.

"Good."

"Oh?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you haven't been squirming nearly enough."

That's... dangerous territory.

"I'm sure you'd be excellent at fixing that for me, _Consul_."

For the first time in a long time, Valerius feels a little... drunk. Properly. Enough to make bad decisions.

Downing the rest of his glass, he takes his sweet time to refill it before rounding the table.

At least you have the decency to look surprised.

Careful not to spill a single drop of his wine in the process, he leans in close enough for his breath to tickle and his lips to brush against the shell of your ear.

"_I would_," he tells you, his words somehow promise and threat all in one.

It takes him all his self-control not to glance back at your face as he leaves the room, but he knows what he hopes you look like.

Lips parted, cheekbones tinged pink, and just surprised enough for him to want to kiss the expression right off of you.

You _are_ trouble.

He just hopes that the countess is pleased with herself for that little stunt.

&

  
It's increasingly rare these days to see the countess wandering around the palace without one of her ball and chains at her side, you or Portia.

So when she joins him on the balcony where he _was_ enjoying the view and his glass of wine... he knows that it isn't a coincidence.

"Valerius."

"Shockingly informal of you, countess."

"You'll have to forgive me if I can't be bothered with the usual pleasantries tonight."

He raises a brow in mock-surprise.

"Have I offended you?"

"Constantly, but I daresay that if I discarded courtesy any time you or the other courtiers had offended me, I would never be courteous again."

"Touché."

He turns to look at her slowly, eyeing her curiously for a moment. She's here for a purpose, and, judging by the determination in her expression, that purpose is far from the... _banter_ they're engaging in now.

"You remember Lucio, don't you, Valerius?"

"Better than you, last I heard. Has something changed or are you here to ask me more questions? If it's the latter, I'm surprised your inquisitor isn't here."

"If my '_inquisitor_' was here, I doubt I would be able to get so much as a single drop of truth from you."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"It would seem that my... idiotic ex-husband has done something so truly idiotic that I could never have seen it coming if it weren't for the investigative abilities of--"

"-- the witch?"

"Please don't interrupt me."

Daggers are glared.

"Are you going to tell me what he's done, or were you hoping to let me lie in wait forever?"

"He's apparently... struck a deal with the devil."

Valerius feels his blood run cold.

"You don't say."

"Tied his existence to his patron, in fact. You saw what we saw in the forest the other day, did you not?"

Oh. _That_.

It makes sense now. You weren't trying to get information out of him at all. You just wanted him to see Lucio. _And_ wished to see his reaction, presumably.

"Why are you telling me this, Countess?"

The countess ignores him. "Would you say that Lucio is the sort of man that gets what he wants?"

Valerius... exhales, irritation overtaking his features. She must remember _something_ from prior to her coma if she's leveling him with that question.

At least she dropped that curious little thread about making deals with the devil.

"If this is about the... _event_, shall we say, then I can only tell you that I do regret it, but the man is just begging to be ste--"

"This isn't about you sleeping with my husband," she cuts him off, weariness seeming to win out over irritation for the moment. "As ill-advised and foolish as it might have been on your part, I do rather think that the accompanying regret is more than sufficient punishment in and of itself."

"How... gracious of you." He tries not to sound as though his voice is dripping with utter disdain, but it's... hard.

"Just answer the question."

"Regrettably, yes. He does. Did. With astonishing regularity for someone so vapid, selfish, self-obsessed, and utterly unremarkable aside from his complete lack of moderation or style."

"Quite."

"I'm not sure I follow how this is related."

She exhales, looking impossibly tired for a moment. "If I am too candid, I fear that it may keep you from being honest with me, let alone anyone else." A beat. "I am trying to recruit your help, Valerius."

"What could you possibly need my help for that isn't already in my present repertoire as Consul?"

"I'd like you to spy on the courtiers. They trust you; it's only logical seeing as you're one of them. But I think they're planning something, and I have a bad feeling that it may involve Lucio."

"By which you mean..."

"... that it does. Yes."

"What does this have to do with the witch?"

Nadia didn't say that it does, specifically. But he assumes that she wouldn't have brought all of this up as... _cautiously_ as she did if it didn't have to do with you.

"It's a precaution. My dear, departed ex-husband has apparently been talking to her and saying the most peculiar things."

"Oh?"

"Telling her that she stole his body from him."

_Oh._ That's... troubling. Confusing.

Downright alarming, the more he thinks on it.

"And, seeing as I have it on good authority that you'd care if something did happen..."

Valerius stiffens.

"And on whose authority would that be, precisely?"

"Mine."

A beat. "... I see." Another. "You should reconsider."

"At any rate," Nadia continues on, undaunted, sighing as though she didn't just drop several bombs on him all at once, "I would appreciate the help. I'm sure she feels much the same way."

"Curious, how she didn't come to me herself."

"She's hardly the type to ask for help."

No, he supposes, that you are not. How irritating. Not that he can fault you, but-- still. He'd very much like to fault you.

"I am headed to my chambers, but I do know that she's still in the library, if you'd like to talk it over with her."

There's that knowing little smile again. _Infuriating_.

"Less drunk than last time, I hope?"

Nadia doesn't even answer. It might be a good thing. After all, he's not sure if he could have handled any pot and kettle comparisons, Valerius' gaze falling to the glass of half-drunk wine at his side.

Well.

He supposes that he's heading to the library, then.

How _irritating_.

&  
  


  
He considers knocking on the door before he realizes how utterly ridiculous that would be and simply walks in, instead.

Your sitting on the floor, legs crossed with one elbow rested atop a knee as you're bent over a rather large book, your hair seeming to shield you from the outside-- from _him_\-- like a curtain.

Reaching into his hair to pull out a bobby pin-- the one formerly used to hold back a particularly stubborn strand of hair that's now hanging in his face one more-- Valerius lets out a long-suffering sigh drops it onto your book.

You don't even flinch. That can't possibly be normal. For a moment, he allows his fingers to hover over your hair, tempted to wind into the whole mess of it and _pull_... before grasping a single tress between them, instead.

"You're either far too trusting or just plain stupid. I assume it's the latter?"

"I knew you were there," you tell him, probably lying, looking up with a small, far-too-coy smile. He allows your hair to fall from his grasp. You look happy, which he decides in that moment that he hates. "And that you wouldn't do me any harm."

"You should be less certain of that."

"What?" you start, letting your hands slide up into your hair to pin it back, your whole form practically on display for him like this as you sit up straight, stretching and bending this way and that. Trying to entice. (Goodness gracious, he hopes he's not _wrong_ about that, he'd be _mortified_, and more than he already is, at that.) "I should be scared of the prospect of you putting up my hair for me? Plying me with gifts? Pulling my hair? I actually think I'd rather enjoy that."

_Seductress_.

Filthy, vile, _commoner_ slag--

Suddenly regretting having allowed himself to bend down to _your level_ at all, Valerius straightens again, the height difference restoring some of his pride to him.

Not all, though.

But, well. At least he can look down at you like this.

"Did you want something?"

You look annoyingly coquettish, and he resists the urge to reply with something similar-- _your blind obedience_ would be rather a delightful answer, he thinks, but the timing is... wrong.

No matter how... delightfully secluded this library is.

"I did," he says instead, walking away and hoping desperately that you look as put out as he wants you to in that moment for his refusal to _bite_ your rather obvious bait. "I had a rather interesting conversation with the countess tonight."

"Oh?"

He lets his finger drag down the spines of one of the books, scowling when he finds it coming away dusty. _Pitiful_.

"Yes. Evidently you're a thief now."

Silence descends upon the library like a weighted blanket. Valerius feels as though he could have heard a pin drop in the space between the two of you.

It takes effort to speak into that immense and daunting quietude, but he pushes on regardless.

"A veritable body snatcher, you are. From the... sounds of it, at any rate. Perhaps you'd care to clear it up?"

He turns to you, if only because your silence is too deafening without the sight of your face to give away how you're feeling. It's disappointing, then, when it doesn't seem to give away anything at all beyond deep thought.

(Where exactly did that flirtatiously lackadaisical attitude from before disappear off to?)

Almost immediately, something shifts on your features, and it's almost as if you were never gone or lost to your thoughts, to begin with. "Did Nadia tell you that? Or your past lover?"

Oh, _goody_. You two have been _talking_.

"He's talking to you more than he is me these days. Which is to say, at all."

A beat passes. You don't say anything.

"That _is_ why you took me into the forest, is it not? Such a convenient way to see if I would incriminate myself."

"You didn't."

He's not sure why that's a relief to hear, coming from you, but he _hates_ that it is with every fiber of his being.

It's strange. Over the last several weeks spent in your... _general proximity_, if it can be considered as qualifying as such, he's felt somehow more and less like himself all at once. It's uncomfortable and unnerving and he hates that just as much.

"The countess would like me to help you."

"I didn't know you gave a shit."

It's said dismissively enough-- goodness gracious, is he actually witnessing you _vulnerable_ for once?-- that he almost wants to prove you wrong.

_Go on, then, Valerius. Tell her you give a shit. It can't possibly be that hard. _

"I... don't."

Well.

Or he could say that.

He tells himself that it would have been wrong to lie and tries to fortify the defenses of his psyche further against you.

_Annoying_.

"... but I do have a responsibility to the countess and the people of Vesuvia."

"And that's why you care about me being a thief and a body snatcher?"

He can practically feel his hackles rise. "It seemed... topical."

"Did it."

How you've suddenly come to sound as tired as he must have been over the last few weeks, he's not sure.

"Are you going to address what's bothering you or am I to continue wasting my time talking to a corpse?"

Ah. Tactful.

You stare at him for a long time at his words before finally shaking your head.

"Don't worry about it. Just... I've been staring at these books for so long, I'm probably just tired. You should get to sleep, too, seeing as Nadia asked for your help, and all."

"Indeed."

He stares at you for a few heartbeats more before striding out of the room, knowing fully well that your implication about going to bed isn't going to come to fruition, and that you're likely to stay up all night staring at those dusty tomes.

Fine.

See if he cares.

&

  
All right. So maybe he cares _a little_.

Enough to have a rather considerable breakfast spread ordered to be sent to your room-- a hopeful first-- and then the library-- a reluctant second, there in case his assumptions of your actions come to fruition.

Which they do.

The delivery is anonymous, and even though you're intelligent enough to put the facts together, he appreciates being able to deny any and all involvement. It feels a little like coming home to a worn-in old blanket. The perfect sort of comfort, denial of human feeling.

After that, you have an annoying spring in your step, and he... has regrets. Well.

It doesn't matter. Not seeing as he has a job to do. A job that he is wholly intent on focusing on instead of you, annoying little trollop that you are.

Dealing with the courtiers would be a full-time job even if he wasn't trying to get information out of them, which means that he does at least have plenty at his grasp to distract him from his memory of that dejected look on your face.

(Was it dejected? Maybe he was wrong and you really were just tired.

He... really isn't cut out for this.)

Oh, good. He's already failing.

It occurs to him halfway through this ridiculous meeting that he at least doesn't have to try very hard in order to get anything out of them. Only Valdemar seems skeptical, and even that isn't so great a hurdle that he can't overcome it.

By the end of the day, he almost knows too much. Apparently, Lucio has a _plan_, which is already enough to inspire genuine concern.

It's made all the worse when one considers that the plan involves Lucio almost certainly coming back to life with the help of _a_ body-- not hard to suss the target of that one out-- and bringing back the plague.

Which is just... _delightful_, seeing as the very aftermath of the plague made him start turning to demonic deals in the first place out of sheer anxiety alone.

And that's worked out so well for him, hasn't it?

Getting the finer details out of the courtiers is another thing altogether. Still, he's a delightfully stubborn man-- has always been, really-- and he's determined to be as helpful as possible in this minuscule way, even if-- no, _especially_ if-- it doesn't make its way back to you.

After all, it's your body that's at stake here. He'd hate to make you think he cares.

&

  
The day Valerius loses his cool ends up being a Tuesday.

It's not that it matters in particular. He's not the sort of working man who has to worry about that kind of thing-- the daily grind has never affected him, as such. And yet, it bears remembering, regardless, if only because it ends up being such a red letter day.

Not because of the anger, no. He's always had a temper, his temperament balanced precariously on a knife's edge at all times, but this is _different_. After all, there's a deadline here.

The masquerade is fast approaching. There's just no getting around that. And with each and every passing day on which he learns absolutely nothing more of use from any of the courtiers beyond the obvious-- Volta is hungry, Vulgora is angry, etc.-- the closer to exploding he can feel himself becoming.

So, it's a Tuesday. They're all in the salon-- him and the other courtiers, at any rate; thank goodness _you're_ not here to ruin his day and the fine vintage in his hand-- discussing the finer details of The Plan.

At least, that was the hope.

"If I'm to be of any assistance," Valerius had explained, "I will need to know more than the dregs you've given me, won't I?"

Volta turns to him, blinking innocently and owlishly, and ruins his day.

"But Consul, we don't know any more than you do. We're just waiting for Lucio to come back and tell us how we can help him."

It's silent for two beats before Valerius hears glass crack next to his ear. His face must be quite the sight of fury, judging from Volta's reaction alone, but he's not aware of it at the moment. He's not even aware of the pain that he should be experiencing from the myriad glass shards digging into his palm.

They know nothing.

He spent almost a week utterly wasting his time trying to get them all to talk when he got all the information he needed on the very first day.

All while the deadline of the masquerade loomed ever closer.

"Consul?" Volta asks, her voice small and concerned.

"Incompetents. Cretins. All of you--" Somewhere to his right, he feels the glass leave his hand, as though the force behind its rejection would be enough to cool his anger.

It isn't.

"You made me waste! my! _wine_!" he snarls, catching sight of a shard of glass embedded in the wall as he strides from the room.

He's bleeding on the floor. He knows he is.

Reaching to grab hold of his wrist-- as though his fingers could catch all the blood cascading down his hand-- he rounds the corner only to catch sight of you on the other end of the hall.

Just fan-_fucking_-tastic, that.

He balls his hand into a fist and tries to pretend that he's not furious beyond all comprehension... for the sake of... decorum. And not having to explain himself to you. The thought of a conversation alone--

"Consul."

"Witch."

For a split second, he thinks that he managed to evade you.

"Wait."

Not that he could possibly be so lucky.

He can hear you turn around behind him, but he himself doesn't do much else other than still his steps, his fingernails digging into his palm.

"I'm not in the mood for idle chit-chat, _Witch_."

"No--" ... and now you're in front of him. Naturally. "Let me see your hand."

"Are you adding palmistry to your registry of inane pastimes?"

"You're _bleeding_," you tell him, something he can't... technically refute.

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

For some reason, you grab his wrist, and for some reason, he allows it.

"Unfurl," you say.

As if you should be the one ordering _him_ around here.

"There's no point in hiding it anymore, I can _already tell_ you're bleeding. You're literally bleeding _on_ me."

"And whose fault is that, exactly?"

"What did you even _do_?!" you continue, his-- granted, rhetorical-- question just left hanging in the air.

"It's just wine," he says, starting to feel slightly ridiculous.

The stare you level at him-- as if it had bottled up disdain, condescension, and an eye roll all in one-- just makes him want to dig his heels in, however.

"Of course it is. A bad habit of yours, is it?"

He bristles.

"I would never waste wine without purpose."

"Oh? You certainly didn't shy away from it when you dumped a whole _pitcher_ of it into my lap."

"That was me doing you a _favor_."

At least that actually catches you off-guard, and you blink. "_What_?"

"Had you never looked in a mirror prior arriving here? If I recall correctly, it led to the countess providing you with new clothes. If anything, you should be thanking me. Those were the few couple of days you were almost bearable to look at."

"Almost."

You don't look amused. _Good_.

"Did you expect me to delight in the sight of you when you were practically advertising the inferiority of your birth? Like a common _pauper_."

The silence seems to spread eternal between the two of you. Until, that is, you smile.

"You think I'm attractive."

"_Excuse_ me."

"You do. And apparently the only way you can come to terms with that is if I dress in one of your rich bitch costumes because you _hate_ that you think I'm hot just. like. this. Even in nothing but rags."

He doesn't want to qualify that with an answer.

Doesn't have to.

You'll assume things, but--

Even if he denies, what is the point? You won't believe him.

And none of this, absolutely none of it, has to do with the fact that there are several nuggets of truth in your words.

Of course not.

Your hand is still around his wrist. It's distracting.

"Unhand me, _Witch_."

"If I do, will you let me help you?"

"Of all the ridiculous-- no, of course not."

"Would it _kill you_ to be slightly less proud? In the face of grievous injury, maybe?"

"I'd hardly consider this grievous. I can barely even feel the glass."

He's just riling you up at this point. But-- he has absolutely no interest in looking at _why_ he wants to rile you up in the first place. Even if you deserve it for your little stunt from earlier. It doesn't serve him. It certainly won't encourage you to finally leave him alone.

"Are you an idiot?"

Of all people. For you. To be saying _that_. To him.

He feels his gaze grow cold before hardening, as if taking its proper time to turn his scorn into ice.

"Yes," he says slowly, taking a step toward you and utterly _delighting_ in the sight of your immediate retreat. "I daresay I just might be, seeing as I have spent the last several days _completely_\--" Another step. "-- and _utterly_ wasting my time on the well-being of others, which--" Step. "-- would be bad enough already, but _then_." Not much further now. It's a miracle you're still holding onto his wrist. "_Not only_ does all of this involve _you_, filthy, commoner _witch_, which would have already been _more than_ bad enough--" His last long stride is enough to have you backed into the wall, Valerius fighting the urge to growl his words through his teeth, eyes flashing furiously. "But to then learn that it was entirely _pointless_?!"

You don't say anything. He wonders if he's disappointed.

Picking up your free wrist, he pins it beside your head without question. You helped yourself to one of his, so he...

"You're _worried_ about me."

He's not sure what's more infuriating-- how absolutely _certain_ and sure of yourself you seem, or the way you let your gaze fall to his lips after saying it.

And how he can't help but allow his own to follow.

"It seems I was wrong," he says, the words leaving him achingly slowly through clenched teeth. It's almost distracting how good you smell. It should be a warning-- he's too close. "Between the two of us, it would seem that I am not the greater idiot after all."

"You're worried about me," you say again. It's just as infuriating to hear as the first time, as it turns out. "And right now..." you lick your lips, drawing his gaze for a split second too long, "... you want to kiss me."

It's as though you've seeped into his skin, planted a seed and watched it fester. He pictures your lips kiss-swollen, your face tinged with streaks of his blood, and tries to decide if it would be worth it to prove you right if it meant getting to push you into the wall and leave you breathless and wanting.

Instead, he pushes himself off of the wall and lets go of your wrist with a scoff, disgust flashing in his eyes.

"For someone so utterly insignificant, you presume to know entirely too much, Witch."

He turns on his heel, intending on leaving you to stew in your own disappointment-- disappointment that you have no one but yourself to blame for-- and is about to walk away when you open your big, obnoxious maw once more.

"It--" He hears you exhale from all the way behind him, Valerius staying... in place. For now.

"Just say it and cease your incessant stalling."

"It wasn't pointless. What you did, I mean. They know more than they're telling you. It's just... if they haven't told you until now, it's unlikely that they're going to. And you'd make yourself suspicious if you started pushing too hard. But-- I'll be fine. Still. Thank you for... worrying about me."

"I wasn't."

"Right. Of course you weren't."

Valerius clenches his fist on instinct and finds himself met with... an astonishing lack of pain.

Wait.

A quick glance down confirms it.

You actually managed to _heal his hand_ while he was threatening you.

_Sneaky little b--_

All right, fine. He'll bite, turn around. Give you his time of day _yet again_. He's almost certain he'll regret it, but. Apparently your idiocy is _catching_.

"Is there a reason _you_ know all of this when I do not?"

"I mean, I definitely didn't talk to them about it? If that makes you feel any better."

It doesn't.

"There's a... location," you continue, rather obviously trying to decide how much information to give away as you're speaking, your expression completely and utterly transparent. Valerius ignores the thrill he gets from watching the emotions dance so freely across your features even as your voice goes considerably quieter. "In the palace. From where you can... spy on the salon."

He should have known.

"So my involvement was... completely pointless. Is that right?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. They always got very chatty after you left. I'm pretty sure Valdemar knows more than most of them, though."

At least he knew that much.

Valerius exhales, irritation winning out over anger for the moment.

"I'm going to drink in my chambers," he announces, and turns on his heel to walk away.

He doesn't bother looking back to see if you're following him, but he trusts that you're intelligent enough to take it for the implied, unspoken invitation that it is.

And if you're not, then you don't deserve it in the first place.

&

  
Irritatingly enough, you do follow, slipping into his chambers with a cheeky _thank you_.

Valerius doesn't say anything, instead wasting no time in opening a bottle of wine-- Marques de Casa Concha, better than you deserve-- and pouring two glasses to set one in front of you.

"And here I would have expected you to have an army of servants to decant your wine _for_ you."

You look good like this, he decides for the second time. He wishes it were easier to resent you for that instead of himself.

"Unlike _some_ people, I happen to enjoy my privacy. This is the only place in this entire godforsaken palace that I can get any peace."

"I'm surprised that you let me in at all."

"Yes, well." Valerius sneers. "If we're to discuss important matters of state, I'd rather do it where prying eyes-- and ears-- shan't disturb us. Especially with this unfortunate revelation that the salon is no longer safe."

"You should be, though," you tell him, allowing your gaze to roam around his quarters in a way that should be making him more uncomfortable than it is. "No portraits."

"There are more than enough of those at my home."

"Speaking of," you continue, allowing yourself to spread out over his chaise without even an ounce of shame, "this is an awful lot of room for someone who already has an entire estate."

"Regrettably, I spend far more time here than I do in my family home."

"It's nice. I like what you've done with the place."

"How delightful for you."

"No, I mean it. It's very classy. I was expecting... I don't know, something more... Lucio."

He's not entirely certain how he manages to avoid baring his teeth at you for that. He settles for an eye-roll in its stead. It would be a shame to give you the pleasure of anything more. "Please don't make yourself _too_ comfortable; I, for one, would hate for you to get used to it before having to return to your pauper life."

"Not planning on inviting me back?" You take a sip of wine and cock your head at him with a too-glib smile. "I'm hurt."

"Of course not." Even though you are... definitely not talking about affairs of state. You're literally just talking. Bantering, even.

_You're_ certainly flirting with him.

"Are you truly so desperate for cock that you'd come licking at the boots of just anyone for attention?"

He says it before he can think better of it, and then decides that he doesn't regret it all the same. But then you stare at him, for long enough that he no longer knows what to expect from you, not with you smiling at him like that.

"No," you say slowly, sitting up to take a longer sip of wine. "Just you."

If it were possible, he thinks his stomach might have dropped several stories straight into his feet.

How... deeply... unsettling.

"My rank is above even that of the countess on account of my noble birth. What makes you think that you could possibly stand a chance at catching my attention?"

"Oh, nothing. I must just be very stupid and filled with endless coffers of hope. But... I also think that I already have."

He _hates_ that you're right about that, his lip furling up in another sneer as he drinks, barely even tasting the wine over his disgust. With himself or with you, he's not sure anymore.

"You forget that I didn't invite you in here, _Witch._"

Oh, good. Good, old-fashioned, thinly-veiled insults. As if those could possibly restore his dignity to him now.

"Didn't stop me, either."

"You are utterly insufferable."

"I do try. Anything to slowly and surely chip away at your sanity."

"And you think this will somehow convince me to find you more appealing?"

"As if you don't already."

It's a good thing there's a table separating the two of you. The prospect of shutting you up would be far too great in that moment.

"I don't see what could possibly be appealing about someone interested in nothing but sex."

As if he hadn't done the same exact thing in the past. There was nothing shameful about... exercising... on his own time.

"Oh, Consul," you drawl, leaning into the space between you, glass of wine perched between your fingers. "After all that talk, it's such a shame that you are the idiot between the two of us, after all."

What in all the hells does _that_ mean?

You down the rest of your glass, set it down, and move to stand, swift steps carrying you to the door... and hopefully out of his chambers, where you belong.

And then he hears himself.

"Did you like it?"

You turn, fingertips just grazing the door-handle, and frown.

"What?"

"The..." He can't believe he's about to ask this. "... wine."

Your smile is disarming enough to make his stomach churn, an undeniably... unacceptable feeling, he decides. "I did, thank you. Maybe next time, you'll even invite me inside for some."

You're gone before he can respond, but it's better like this. He's not even sure what he would have said had you stayed.

&

  
Valerius decides not to worry about it anymore after that.

You evidently heard what you needed to from your little peephole into the salon. He can only assume that you took your information to the countess, came up with a plan all on your own, and that he's officially been rendered useless.

Still, he could have gone home, he supposes. Why he ended up staying in his palace quarters, he can't be entirely certain.

As though he was only waiting for you to drop by and grace him with another one of your opinions on his wine?

Ugh.

_Disgusting_. He hardly even recognizes himself anymore.

All the same, he knows he can't very well get out of attending the masquerade. It's why he's here tonight, surveying the ballroom dance floor from the sidelines, his wine glass the only companion he could possibly require on this fine evening.

Until he sees you dancing with one of your little _friends_, that is.

He bristles when you dance with the doctor, all smiles and engaged conversation, and feels his hackles rise when you're promptly handed off to the countess for another round. As though everyone should, what, get a turn?

It continues in this fashion until you dance with the _other_ witch. The other witch, who seems to be looking at you like you're their sun and moon and stars, spinning you this way and that--

He's crossing the dance floor before he can think to stop himself, his hand held out to you as soon as the song comes to a close.

"Might I cut in?"

The _other_ witch looks apprehensive for a moment, but with none of that same hesitation coloring your features, it seems that he ultimately gives in.

And you _smile_ as you take his hand.

"It would be my pleasure, Consul."

The other witch steals a kiss from your cheek before departing, something he can't say he cares for _whatsoever_, Valerius waiting until he's well out of earshot before even bothering to engage you in conversation.

It's really none of the other witch's business, now is it?

"You dance astonishingly well for a sewer rat."

"Is there a reason you feel the need to insult me alongside your compliments?"

"I wasn't aware that I was complimenting you whatsoever prior to now."

"Maybe you just weren't aware of it, but I happen to be rather good at reading between the lines."

"A remarkable talent for someone who can barely read, let alone dress themselves in the morning."

"You _charmer_."

He feels himself bristle all over again, but it's different this time than when he was watching every other person in all of Vesuvia get their grubby hands all over you.

Almost… enjoyable.

"Although I will say," he continues, "that even you seem to clean up rather nicely."

"And even without someone spilling an entire decanter of wine onto my lap!"

Cheeky trollop.

"Indeed."

"I'd grant you the satisfaction of knowing that you look fairly decent yourself tonight, but… I fear it may go to your head."

"Why, because I look good at all times?"

"Something like that. Especially tonight, though."

He falls quiet for a moment. "I trust that you came up with a solution?"

"... no."

_That_ is almost enough to halt his steps.

"_Oh_?"

"Well-- sort of. I mean… it's kind of hard. We don't have all the facts. We know some things, but it's far from a complete picture. So while we might be able to stop… one thing… there's still a lot of _ifs_ and _maybes_ that we can't really account for."

This time, you really do look vulnerable, Valerius scowling.

"That seems remarkably foolish and reckless of you."

"I'm a witch, not a seer, Consul."

"Even so."

The song comes to a regrettable close, though Valerius finds himself reluctant to part from you, a soft exhale leaving him as he forces himself to follow through regardless.

There. A respectable distance.

"I'm sure you're all too eager to return to your… _friends_, so I shan't keep you."

"Actually, I was hoping you might accompany me."

"Oh?"

"Into the gardens. I… may wish to ask for your help."

He blinks.

"By all means. Far be it from me to turn down your pleas."

You throw him a wink from over your shoulder before taking his hand-- the same one, he notes, that you healed for him before-- leading him first out onto the terrace and then into the vast gardens before slipping into the hedge maze.

"People will think that we have sneaked away for a tryst, I hope you realize," he says, but doesn't stop you as you lead him to the fountain, either.

"So? Let them think it. I doubt you'd prefer for them to think I'm up for grabs, anyway."

All right, so maybe he can't refute that. How extraordinarily annoying of you.

"I do sincerely hope you realize that you're playing with fire, Witch. I don't _appreciate_ sharing my property."

You don't look nearly as concerned by that as you should. If anything, you look _delighted_.

"Are you warning me that you're a jealous lover, Consul? But I already knew that. Why do you think I was dancing with my friends in full view of you?"

_You horrible little hussy._

"I don't see what you could possibly hope to achieve--"

Your finger is on his lips to still him in an instant, your eyes wide as you turn to look toward the fountain.

"It worked," you say simply, as though it would clear up anything at all.

And it doesn't, not until--

"So it did."

\-- the Devil takes form in the clearing at the center.

You turn more fully, your hand-- for whatever reason-- still in his.

"I'm here to make a deal."

Valerius feels his blood run cold. If this is your idea of a joke, it's a bad one. Dreadful, really.

"Is that so?" the Devil asks, his eyes boring into Valerius for a moment. "And I suppose you've consulted your lover on this?"

"It's not really any of his business."

That's… rather a lot to digest all at once. A part of him feels hurt that you don't think it is his business, but then, he's also feeling rather blindsided by the fact that you were okay with the Devil calling the two of you lovers when you haven't even kissed.

Something that has been plaguing him ever since that dream of his. Granted, it and more would probably have happened by now if he hadn't been so excruciatingly stubborn and prideful, but.

Water. Bridges. Bygones. You’re apparently lovers now and none of this is his business.

"Is that so?" The devil runs a clawed finger through the hair at his chin, thoughtful. "And how do you feel about this, _Valerius_?"

The familiarity between them feels like an insult.

"Of course she hasn't consulted me; I would have never allowed this foolishness."

"Wouldn't you have? That's very curious." A beat. "Though I suppose it does make sense. Wouldn't want your lover to make the same mistakes as you."

He can practically feel the already-thin ice beneath him starting to crack.

"What's he talking about?" you ask him, Valerius resisting the urge to be glib.

"Is now really the time, _darling_? As I recall, you were busy making a deal with the Devil."

You sigh. "Fair point."

"Well, I'd hate to cause any more strife in your budding relationship," the Devil says, sounding insincere as ever. Valerius isn't sure he cares, seeing as he's not actually in a relationship at all. You've touched, what, a handful of times at most? Ridiculous. "You said you wanted to make a deal."

"I want you to take care of Lucio. Permanently. And I want the plague gone."

"My, my, but we are getting greedy. Luckily, it is more than in my power to grant you both of those wishes. I'll just need three days."

"Awfully slow for someone of your… abilities," Valerius remarks, tone as acerbic as ever.

"We can't all be satisfied with trifles, Valerius." The Devil levels him with a knowing stare that he doesn't appreciate one bit. "That being said, I will be asking for something in return, I hope you realize."

"I do."

"All right. In that case, I'll be taking that body of yours off your hands."

"_Excuse_ me?" He should have seen something like this coming, honestly. He doesn't presume to know where you came from, or why Lucio had reason to call you a thief and a body snatcher, but even he can connect the dots enough for implications to form from next to nothing.

"Oh, would that bother you, Valerius? I'm afraid that there's no deal big enough for you to make that could change my mind about this."

"It _is_ her body, is it not? I don't see how it should be in your power to take."

"How wonderful it would be for you if that were true. You see, your darling lover died of the plague several years ago. What convenient timing it was for her dear magician friend to give up half of his heart to resurrect her the same night that Lucio was trying to bargain for his new body."

"Stop," he hears you say. "I accept."

Valerius feels like he has whiplash.

"_Delightful_," the Devil says, just in time for Valerius to see you disappear. The Devil follows in short order, and for a long moment, it feels as though the ground has been torn out from under him.

Except that he can _feel_ you, your presence in the air, as it were.

"I daresay we have a lot to talk about, once I manage to undo the _ridiculous_ mess you've caused. But seeing as I don't even know if you can hear me right now, I suppose it would be unfair of me to be angry with you. For now."

There will be plenty of time to school you on how not to behave _later_.

He doesn't have a lot of people he can turn to or that he trusts, but… you do.

Shelving his complete and utter distaste for the fact that your magician friend evidently gave up _half of his heart_ to bring you back to life, Valerius decides to return inside.

To seek him out.

Against his better judgment.

&

  
The news that _Lucio_ is back coupled with the fact that you're still invisible might make this one of the worst days of his life.

"Can you help or not?"

All right, so maybe he's being a little… extra testy with Asra. The earlier revelation coupled with the look he saw on Asra's face during your little _dance_ have him less than in a good mood.

The fact that you're still sans a body can't be helping his temper, either.

"I mean… I might have an idea where she'd be safe. Temporarily. She's in between realms right now-- like Lucio was. It's not a safe place to be, not for long. But if we can get her to the Magician's realm, she should be all right. The… fountain in the garden is a portal. I can help with that. We're trying to, um. Stop something from happening over here, or I'd obviously go with her. But I can try to follow and find you later."

"Don't insult me, Magician."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll be accompanying her. Obviously."

Asra blinks, staring at Valerius almost as if sizing him up for a moment. How cute.

"... all right. If she's okay with it."

"Of course she'd be okay with it; honestly, of all the ridiculous things--"

He leads the charge to the garden, impatience winning out over courtesy, and tries not to look too closely at why he's so utterly invested in your well-being in the first place.

A good fuck could have done the job of ridding him of these unnecessary feelings ages ago. Why did he have to be so absurdly stubborn, again?

Well. There's no going back now, he supposes-- metaphorically _or_ literally. Not once the magician does his myriad hocus and pocus to the water.

"That should do the trick and let you go in with her. But your body will stay here, so… we'll keep that safe."

Valerius looks less than impressed. He's supposed to leave his _body_ with these clowns?

Ugh, fuck it.

"_Fine_," he says, and steps into the fountain.

He feels his body lurch before giving way to dizzying vertigo. It's as though he's falling for eons before his body finally hits a stable surface once more. It doesn't hurt-- there isn't even much of an impact.

But he does not like where he is.

The catacombs are cold and dank and dark, but the damp floor isn't the first thing he notices, not even as he slowly picks himself up and dusts himself off once more. Instead, his gaze is drawn to a vast number of skeletons, gilded and bejeweled, peering at him from lifeless sockets.

Judging him.

It might have been less unsettling if they weren't wearing robes of office, but he's almost certain that one of those costumes used to belong to his father, too. An empty alcove seems to beckon to him, as if he belongs--

"Valerius?"

Your voice is faint, but he recognizes it all the same. It's just up the stairs.

There's a faint crying, too, but that seems to come from further downstairs, and-- you're the priority right now. If your voice upstairs turns out to be a red herring... at least he'll know where to go next.

His steps carry him up several flights of stairs, and he can't say that he's entirely too disappointed to be leaving the catacombs and the eternal stares of the skeletons residing there.

The last step up seems to carry him into a different world altogether, Hellenistic-inspired grand arches and marble friezes overwhelming him with calm despite the ruin they appear to be in-- for a moment only, before he catches sight of you.

"Ah, there you are."

"Valeri-- um."

"It would have been... _annoying_ had we ended up in different places." To say the least. He brushes off another bit of nonexistent dust from his robe before the look on your face registers with him.

If he didn't know better, he'd go so far as to say that you look _scared_ of him.

"What… happened to you?"

It's not until you run your hand down his arm and touch your fingers to his face that he notices that he has… fur.

He staggers back from your touch in immediate shock, his hands coming up to run over his features only to find that one of them, too, has warped into something nigh unrecognizable.

"Valerius--"

"Why--?"

His voice trembles in a way he's not used to hearing from himself, Valerius swallowing hard.

"I need you to not panic, all right?" Your hands find his to hold. It's absurd-- why would you want to be touching him in this state, let alone trying to comfort him?

Why would you want to do that _at all_?

You look completely normal. Did he do this to himself?

"I-- something feels wrong. I think-- the Devil said you made deals with him, right?"

He already looks like half a ram. There isn't really any way to fall further, is there? He might as well tell the truth, then.

"... perhaps… small things. Here and there."

"Why would-- nevermind, that's really not relevant right now. I'm starting to think that the Devil might have done this intentionally? Like he knew you'd come in here with me and that it would benefit him in some way."

"I should inform you that we're not alone," he remarks, still fighting the urge to overthink his current appearance. "There was a… crying. Further down the stairs from where I was. If that helps."

"It... might. I think… Valerius, I think there might be _physical_ chains around you. You can't see them-- hell, I can barely see them, but--"

You've stopped calling him Consul. Ever since you came down here, he realizes. First, to call him, and now...

Well. He's hardly dignified enough in this state to be called any title, let alone _Consul_.

He deserves this, in a way.

"Can you remove them?" 

"I don't know. You-- you can't feel them, right? There's nothing binding you or weighing you down?"

"I'm perfectly all right."

"Then… let's make sure that whoever is downstairs doesn't need our help."

He's not excited at the prospect of returning downstairs, but nods nevertheless, following closely behind you. He's practically as bad as Lucio in this state, cloven hoof, horn, and all.

Pathetic.

"The sooner I might be rid of this visage, the better."

"You're starting to sound a bit more like yourself again," you tell him from over your shoulder, a small smile detectable in your tone.

It's a relief, in truth, and he feels himself able to walk a little taller and straighter once more. It's annoying that you should have that ability in the first place, but the fact that he can feel annoyed by anything again at all comes as a comfort, as well.

You pass by the skeletons. You look, but don't say anything, either. It's probably for the best, in truth. There are other things to be focused on, like the crying that's slowly becoming louder, more discordinant.

As though he can feel it in his bones.

As though it's _a part of him_.

You come across the bundle on the floor first, slowly crouching down to look what it's hiding. It's impossible for him to see like this, with your body shielding it, but-- he doesn't have to wait long.

"Oh, Valerius--"

Your voice sounds almost stoppered by the revelation, and you turn to look at him in-- is it revulsion? Panic?

_Pity_?

He thinks he'd prefer revulsion over pity.

"It's the Hierophant," you tell him, Valerius recognizing some of his own features on the dying, withering creature.

That can't be normal.

"I'm... going to try to get rid of those chains, okay? Just to see if I can. And… if I can't, then we'll go from there."

"Do try to be quick about it, if you can."

"So much politeness," you quip, and do… something.

It looks a little like dancing in place. Your hands are moving, exploring the space around him…

For a moment, he feels weightless. Burdens lifted, he seems to practically float back into his body, Valerius noting the shift of their surroundings, everything back to where you were earlier, friezes and arches and columns, but brilliantly restored, no more in ruins. Stained glass windows color the floor with light. To the left, there seems to be a vineyard that he hadn't noticed before in favor of noticing you.

He feels… like himself. Or rather, a better version of himself.

There's another feeling, though, but it's not one he's ready to tackle just yet. There will be… time.

For now, he glances down at himself; at his arm, his foot. Reaches up to touch his head.

Back to normal. Truly.

To his right, someone clears their throat.

"I see we've righted our wrongs."

No longer a withered ram, then. That's quite the relief.

"... the Hierophant, I take it. I apologize that we aren't meeting under better circumstances."

"The circumstances are as good as can be expected, Consul. I appreciate both of your swift action in aiding me."

"It was nothing," you tell him, all smiles, and he forces himself not to stare.

Absolutely ridiculous.

"I do believe we have a great deal to discuss, though," the Hierophant continues, giving you the perfect avenue, it would seem, to elbow him in the ribs.

"That's putting it lightly."

"Come. We can talk outside."

&

  
You end up talking for some time and drinking… enough. Time moves differently in this realm, and though your magician friend claimed he'd meet up at some indistinct point, your main goal right now is-- has to be-- to save the other Arcana.

Something he never expected to find himself assisting anyone in doing, let alone you.

By the time you reach the Magician's realm, however, even he can tell that you're starting to become exhausted. And while you're good at holding it together for those around you, everyone has a breaking point.

Whether it's because of the work you've been doing in ridding demons of their chains or because of your lack of a physical tether in reality, he's not sure. All the same, he supposes it doesn't really matter, and when you ultimately collapse back into his arms after restoring Justice to its former state, he decides that you require rest, and soon.

Still, the Magician's realm calls to you as if it were a beacon, Valerius almost disappointed when he catches sight of the magician-- the one rather obviously in love with you-- waving from a distance.

Brilliant.

"I do so hope that your friends have at least thought of a plan while you've been doing all the work."

That one earns him a smack in the ribs.

"Hey, they've been working hard! You've only become properly embroiled in this drama tonight, you know."

"And then was promptly turned into half a ram, yes."

"That is _slightly_ your fault, you know."

"On a technicality. You're in league with me now, you know. Making deals with the devil? Terribly naughty of you. And I do remember how much you wanted to avoid ending up in league with someone like me."

"Hey now, that's completely different!"

"Is it? Because I believe I recall _someone_ saying that you throwing your body away in a deal was none of my business."

The smile on your face as you roll your eyes is enough to tell him that you know he's teasing you.

This is… strangely comfortable, this rapport between you. Natural, even.

He's almost disappointed once you reach Asra and the conversation comes to a halt.

&

You weren't wrong. Your friends _have_ been working hard on the other side, doing everything in their power to help you.

And that includes bodily dragging Lucio into the Magician's realm so you could get the chains off of him, too. Neither of you had expected it to not only restore your body to you, but Lucio's as well, but you weren't about to complain, and that was enough for Valerius to keep his thoughts to himself.

No matter how many things he wanted to say to Lucio in that moment, what with you collapsed into his arms for a third time that day.

Night? Time had become meaningless.

There's still work to be done and chains to be broken, but those things could wait.

Valerius had insisted. You needed rest, and at the very least your friends were willing to back him up.

By the time you're finally back in the palace, you're staggering, and he ends up wrapping his arm around you to keep you from falling. The masquerade is still in full swing, which isn't particularly surprising. Even if you took over a day to return, the masquerade _is_ on for several days. Still, he's not about to allow any careless guests to injure you in any way.

He doesn't bother trying to explain himself when he takes you to his chambers instead of to your bedroom in the palace, and no one tries to stop the two of you, either.

His bed is more than big enough, after all, for the both of you, and with plenty of room to spare in between.  
  
You fall into bed practically the second the two of you reach its side, Valerius letting out a disapproving sigh.  
  
"Not even going to change? Take your shoes off?"  
  
You manage the latter at his chiding, but only barely, and the second your head hits the pillow, you're out like a light. He would tease you for that, but he's exhausted, and by the time he gets to bed, he falls asleep almost as quickly.  
  
The bed is round and big enough for far more than two people. You don't invade his space overnight, which is just as well, because he does tend to prefer to be the actor in his intimacy. Maybe later, once you've done more than hold hands like schoolchildren.  
  
It is, however, rather nice to wake up next to you.  
  
There's a calm in his chest that he hasn't felt there in years, a sort of effortless weightlessness.  
  
He sits up in bed, pulls on a sheer robe, pours himself a glass of wine, and feels... content.  
  
How strange.  
  
"Wine for breakfast? You're _incorrigible_"  
  
Your voice sounds hoarse and groggy from sleep, Valerius leveling you with an arched brow.  
  
"Would you care for some?"  
  
"Mm... no. There's still a lot to do."  
  
"So there is."  
  
"I..." You hesitate. "I won't be able to do it all alone. The rest of it, I mean. I'll-- I'll need Asra's help."  
  
He _was_ about to offer his services, but that thought is snuffed out rather quickly. Of course. Of all the people whose help you might need on such an endeavor, it does make sense that it would be the magician.  
  
The magician, who is rather obviously in love with you.  
  
The magician, who gave up half his heart to bring you back from the dead.  
  
"I see."  
  
It's fine. It's not as if you actually _are_ lovers, or like the heat of his jealousy isn't lapping at him like the flames of hell.  
  
"No-- don't do that. I was actually hoping to talk to you before I set off."  
  
"Talk?" He was picturing the two of you doing a lot more than talking. "By all means, then."  
  
"It occurs to me that I kind of... took advantage of you? And I'm sorry about that. I dragged you into this, practically coerced you to join me in the Arcana realm, and then made you help me with so much."  
  
"You did remove the devil's chains from me," he says, despite that being an event that he'd rather forget ever occurred in the first place. "So I do believe us to be even."  
  
"Valerius--"  
  
"You may consider your debt repaid, Witch." He moves to stand, crossing the room as if physical distance could act as a shield from you and any unnecessary feelings brought on by your existence.  
  
It doesn't.  
  
"I didn't realize I'd been demoted back down to _Witch_."  
  
He _had_ begun to call you by your name, yes. But that was before. This is now.  
  
"Yes, well. I'd hate for any confusion to crop up. I doubt that magician friend of yours would appreciate it."  
  
"Would it kill you to shelve your pride for two seconds?!"  
  
You're on your feet now and behind him; the last time he heard you this angry, he believes, was after his hand injury, and his subsequent refusal to allow you to see to its mending.  
  
Which you _ignored_.  
  
"You're completely insufferable--"  
  
He turns to face you from where his attention had been solidly _un_focused on the books atop the fireplace mantle before him, his expression turning from private disgust to utter disinterest in its stead.  
  
"Did you think that my entire personality would change, just because you _fixed_ me in the Hierophant's Realm? That I would magically turn into something other than the arrogant, prideful, possessive, _covetous_ consul you were evidently so convinced you could change?"  
  
"I _like_ you, you idiot. _You_! So if you could just look outside yourself for one second--"  
  
He has you backed against a bookshelf and your hands pinned above your head in less than a heartbeat before he's kissing the crook of your neck, biting and nipping, sucking on the skin. He lingers, seemingly determined to find satisfaction even within the boundaries he's created upon your skin. The action draws several moans and gasps from you before he appears to be even somewhat satisfied.  
  
But instead of withdrawing, his lips only travel further up to the crook of your jaw to repeat the process yet again.  
  
You don't resist in his arms, instead only offering him moans of pleasure and soft hisses of pain whenever he sucks too hard. He doesn't want there to be a single spot of your body left unmarked by him, but he'll settle for the few marks he has you littered with now, ones that no scarf could ever possibly cover up.  
  
"Valerius--"  
  
He's not sure he could ever tire of that sound-- his name, half-whimper, half-submission.  
  
"Are you ever going to kiss me?"  
  
"I _was_ going to. I'd hoped to leave your lips just as bruised as your skin--" Pinning both your wrists with one hand is effortless work, Valerius delighting in drawing back and allowing his fingertips to ghost over the bruise-riddled path dotting your skin. "But then you became impatient and greedy."  
  
"What do I have to do, then?"  
  
"Beg me."  
  
This is a test.  
  
He can tell just from looking into your eyes that you know this just as well as he does.  
  
But still, you do little more than level him with a stare.  
  
"I believe I told you to beg."  
  
"And if I don't want to?"  
  
"Then you won't be rewarded."  
  
He catches the way the corner of your lips quirks up. "No reward? That hardly sounds like the proper punishment for someone disobedient."  
  
"You should learn that I am not a gentle lover, _Witch_." He levels you with a stare. Not just a test, but a warning, then.  
  
You can still leave. Change your mind about wanting to be with him-- a ridiculous desire for you to have in the first place. It doesn't even matter that he's marked you. This is your ticket out.  
  
"Try me," you say, and test his patience.  
  
"I hope you realize that only good, obedient witches get punished in such a way as would delight them. If I'm to punish you, I can guarantee that it won't be enjoyable for you."  
  
"Are you trying to scare me?"  
  
"If you are the type to be scared by that, then yes."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Good."  
  
Admittedly, he was hoping you wouldn't be.  
  
"I will not repeat myself, Witch."  
  
Silence descends, heavy and pregnant between you.  
  
"... please," you finally say, visibly swallowing. A veritable treat for the eyes.  
  
"Please _what_?"  
  
"Please kiss me-- punish me-- I don't really care anymore, honestly, I just want _you_\--"  
  
If there was more coming, he doesn't allow you to finish your thought, not when your words light a desire in his gut that would be impossible to shake.  
  
Instead, he cuts you off with a searing kiss, your lips parting against his as willingly as he'd hoped for them to. The feeling of you pliant against him like this is nothing short of ecstasy, a breathtaking climax after what feels like months-- _years_\-- of waiting. It hasn't been even remotely that long-- even claiming _weeks_ would be genuinely pushing it, but his desire for you has been nothing short of ravenous, and a man with less self-control would never have lasted as long as he has.  
  
He allows his free hand to run up your body, to cup your breast and tease your nipple through your clothing-- the same clothing that you wore all of yesterday and to sleep in. He wants to tell you that the fact that you're still wearing it at all is an injustice, but that would require ceasing his kissing of you, and he isn't sure he's physically capable of it, not with him utterly drunk on the taste of you.  
  
So he lets his hand do the work for him, ridding you of piece by piece as agonizingly slow as the process may be. He doesn't stop until you're left in your chemise-- it's only fair, seeing as he's wearing nothing but his undergarments and a thin, practically see-through robe-- and at any rate, you _are_ utterly lovely like this.  
  
He can't imagine that the sight of you nude will be any different, but he also isn't quite done teasing you yet.  
  
So he allows his hand to slowly work the material of your slip up your thigh until he can feel skin, his mouth left with the deliciousness of your gasp.  
  
He thinks he could sustain himself of nothing but you from here on and still feel continuously drunk at all times.  
  
They couldn't have that, though. Not when you look even more beautiful, somehow, with a flush coloring your cheeks.  
  
Trailing a path up to your hip, Valerius allows the tips of his fingers to explore your body, stilling only with the discovery of your folds. Parting your lips, he draws his thumb up to your clit and waits for another inhale, another gasp or another moan-- anything to sustain him a little further, to hold off and spur on his desire all at once.  
  
It comes alongside a buckling of your knees, the sweetest moan leaving parted lips before he captures them again, sliding his knee between your legs to both hold you up and offer friction.  
  
As stubborn, prideful, and downright insulting as he can be at times, he can be kind, too, after all.  
  
For the right person.

Sometimes.  
  
You take his offering as the gift that it is, and let yourself rut against his thigh, eager hips seeking out his thumb over and over. He's done this before, of course, but it's never felt quite like this, as though the stakes are this high.  
  
He wonders why, and slides two fingers inside of you only to find you wet and wanting.  
  
You're close now-- he can tell. It would be hard to miss. Your kisses have become less messy and more nonexistent, movements directed-- if not by him-- then by instinct alone, and you arch your body, yearning for your peak--  
  
He pulls his hand away just as his teeth find your earlobe, a loud whine escaping you at the lack of satisfaction.  
  
"_That_, my witch," he whispers, lips ghosting along the shell of your ear, "is _punishment_."  
  
Not a spanking. Not the myriad ways he could tie you to his bed.  
  
Nothing that could have you moaning deliciously for him.  
  
"_Beg,_" he orders, and is met with another whimpered whine.  
  
"Please-- Valerius, _please_\--"  
  
"Please _what_?"  
  
"P-please let me come--"  
  
"That's better," he purrs into your ear, the reward he offers almost instantaneous. He has you back on the brink in moments, the feeling of your clenching around his fingers enough to make even _him_ shudder at the prospect.  
  
He removes his knee from between your legs only once he's convinced that you can stand on your own again. It's not surprising-- the way you quivered in his grasp had him genuinely concerned for a bit, but, finally satisfied that you can stand, he releases your wrists.  
  
You stagger for a moment, but remain upright.  
  
Good enough.  
  
"Get on the bed," he tells you, and you have the audacity to grab the front of his robe to drag him in for another kiss.  
  
"Not without you," you say, and... _fuck_.  
  
He might just have to allow that.  
  
"I'm coming. Now get on the bed-- I won't make you wait."  
  
That promise seems enough to make you comply, and he stays true to his word, landing a smack on your ass before his fingers seek out your cunt to slide inside of once more. It's enough stimulation that for all your best intentions of crawling onto the bed and-- presumably-- turning over for him, that's out the window now as your body gives way to another moan. He pumps his fingers and curls them inside of you almost lazily as your fingers dig into the sheets beneath you-- before withdrawing and grabbing your opposite leg to tug, effectively flipping you onto your back in the process.  
  
"Look at you," he drawls, reaching for his wineglass to take a slow sip before returning it to its former place. "You're a mess."  
  
"And whose fault is that, exactly?"  
  
"If it's anyone's but mine, I will have to have words with them," he tells you, and leans in for another kiss, hard and hot and just as intense as all the rest have been.  
  
You wrap your legs around his waist without even so much as a comment, grasping hold of his cock between your bodies before he catches hold of your wrist and pulls back with a chiding look.  
  
"Eager, are we?"  
  
"I want to feel you; I can't help it."  
  
"Demanding..." he mutters, glancing down at your chemise. "You can do better than these rags," he decides, and tears them clean off of you.  
  
It doesn't matter that they were given to you by Nadia. They're not good enough for you. Besides, anything he destroys, he'll replace with far better and then some. But-- you also don't look too put out, so he's fairly certain that you know that.  
  
He pulls back seemingly just to undo his robe and rid himself of his undergarments, but it's for far more than that: It allows him an excuse to look at you, to drink in the sight of the stunning body he's about to ravish, _properly_.  
  
Then again, you seem to be doing the same thing, judging by the way you're staring at his cock and licking your lips.  
  
There will be more than enough time for that later. Not that he doesn't want to know what it feels like to have your mouth wrapped around him, but--  
  
Right now, he has greater priorities.  
  
"Do you want me?" he asks, his tone painfully serious.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm a wildly jealous man, I hope you know."  
  
"I do know that."  
  
"And I certainly don't share."  
  
"I know that, too."  
  
"I've also been said to have a... considerable temper. At times."  
  
"Yes."  
  
His hands find your wrists once more, Valerius marveling for a moment.  
  
"One could argue that my negative qualities far outweigh any positive ones that I may possess."  
  
"I wouldn't."  
  
"You must be a considerable idiot."  
  
"Oh, I am. I'm very stupid and filled with endless coffers of hope."  
  
He doesn't keep you waiting anymore after that, instead recapturing your lips to a moan from you. His tongue teases at the seam of them until you grant him entry, and he offers reluctant freedom to one of your wrists to position himself at your entrance.  
  
"You can still change your mind, Witch," he whispers, and you shake your head.  
  
"Not a chance," you tell him, and run your newly-freed hand into his hair to pull him down into another kiss.  
  
Fine, then.  
  
You win.  
  
He thrusts into you-- not all at once, but slowly at first, not knowing-- and not really wanting to know, honestly-- your level of experience, or how long it's been since your last time. But when you do nothing but moan and tighten your grip in his hair, the heels of your feet pressing into his ass to urge him on and deeper, he knows that he doesn't have to worry about that.  
  
He... also... has to swallow down his distaste for the fact that you've obviously done this before, and with someone else, but... there isn't a lot either of you can do about that.  
  
Still, there's no harm in making you wait for the rest of him. Especially not when you're behaving so delightfully _needy_.  
  
"Do you want it?"  
  
"Please?"  
  
"You'll have to be more convincing than that, Witch."  
  
"Of _course_ I want it, you idiot. Will you _please_ just--"  
  
Your words dissolve into a moan as he cuts you off with a thrust into your tight, wet heat.  
  
"I'm not a gentle lover," he warns you again, and starts to thrust, hard, holding your legs open with his free hand perched just beneath the inside of your knee.  
  
You look _delicious_ like this, a wanton, mewling mess of a thing, wet and barely intelligible at all.  
  
Then again, even he is struggling to keep his cool entirely. He knows he's flushed in the way that wine never makes him, knows that you have him riled up to the point that no others are ever privy to seeing, and, what's more, he has no regrets.  
  
How... incredible.  
  
"Valerius--"  
  
He releases your other wrist, Valerius guiding it to hold your knee up and keep you open for him while the other is tangled desperately in the sheets beneath you.  
  
It's all in the name of a good cause, of course. He needs his free hand to touch you again, to bring you to another climax.  
  
As if he could ever be satisfied with only one orgasm from you.  
  
"Will you come for me again, Witch? Or must I wait forever for the feeling of your release around my cock?"  
  
"I'll--"  
  
You gasp, whimper, pant. It's a breathtaking sight to behold.  
  
You arch deliciously, Valerius not once letting up his thrusts or his thumb's attention on your clit. It's as though you're climbing a mountain from the look of you-- your face practically illustrating your ascent to your peak. It's a feast for the eyes that he isn't about to take for granted, not when he knows it will dissolve right before his eyes, and quickly, the very moment that you finally lose grasp of your control.  
  
You quiver.  
  
The tremors start in your feet, muscles tightening, before moving up your body in a crawl. All of you slowly drawn taut.  
  
He whispers the order for you to come just seconds before he knows you're about to, and you follow his command, perfectly obedient, clenching and throbbing around his cock as you cry out, loud.  
  
Loud enough that the whole masquerade could hear you.  
  
He _hopes_.  
  
He doesn't dare cut off your cries, but the desire to kiss you again, to reclaim you even whilst buried inside of you completely, is too strong to ignore. So he returns to the darkest welt he's left on your skin, right at the crook of your neck, hoping to make it even darker as his thrusts speed up into a barely-controlled frenzy.  
  
Your skin swallows his own groans of release when he comes, throbbing inside of you for what feels like an eternity.  
  
All bliss, all contentment.  
  
A strange feeling.  
  
You let out a fluttery sigh by the time his cock finally stills its frenzy, and he decides that he likes the sound, annoyingly.  
  
You're playing with his hair, which would be utterly unacceptable in anyone else's hands, but... he'll tolerate you with you.  
  
It might even be somewhat nice.  
  
"If I have to rebraid my hair after this, there will be consequences," he tells you, and you have the audacity to laugh.  
  
He supposes he should be used to it by now.  
  
With no desire to crush you beneath his weight, he ends up shifting and settling beside you, his wineglass back in his hand when you sigh.  
  
"I'll come back, you know."  
  
"Of course you will. I forbid any other alternative."  
  
You laugh again, a bright and happy sound that stirs something in his chest. It's... uncomfortable.  
  
Not _entirely_ terrible, though.  
  
"We should... talk about it, you know. Maybe."  
  
No. Absolutely not.  
  
He already knows what you're going to say, and it would just complicate things unnecessarily.  
  
"It's going to slip out sooner or later," you tell him, which he doesn't like hearing whatsoever. "We can't run from that forever."  
  
"I would almost certainly like to try."  
  
"Then..." You find his hand, interlacing your fingers with his, which already has him nervous. He allows it, though, for whatever absurd, ridiculous reason. "Let me just say that I might have feelings for you. Good ones. Strong ones, even."  
  
That's more than enough, Valerius thinks. Sufficient to last him for a lifetime.  
  
He stares.  
  
Considers.  
  
"All right."  
  
You laugh, mostly disbelief this time. "Are you going to say something back, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?"  
  
_Ugh.  
  
Feelings. _  
  
"I... may... also. Feel... something. For you. Perhaps."  
  
That's as good as you're getting.  
  
Still, you seem strangely satisfied, your smile wide as you lean in to kiss him again.  
  
"I'll bring back some of the Hierophant's stock, all right? To make it up to you. For missing the rest of the masquerade... and leaving you to deal with the Lucio problem."  
  
"_Please_, as if we'd be spending our time out there at the masquerade if you were staying here. As for Lucio..." He rolls his eyes, taking another long sip of his wine. He can wait. For now. "I'm sure Nadia has some ideas."  
  
"All right, in that case... I'll make sure that we don't need to leave either here or your estate for at least a week once I'm back."  
  
"That sounds... acceptable."  
  
"Oh _does_ it?"  
  
"If you overwork yourself, I will make you regret it, however."  
  
"I'll be good. Thank you for worrying about me," you say, and lean in to steal another kiss.  
  
He doesn't even feel the need to correct you.  
  
At this rate, he may never recover.  
  
For some reason, Valerius doesn't even mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, they totally love each other. They're just dumb. 
> 
> Well, mostly Valerius. But he's especially dumb.
> 
> I'm over at [@androugenius](https://twitter.com/androugenius) if you want to come chat about this fic, Valerius, the Arcana, or anything at all!


End file.
